


bright day, starry night

by gingergenower



Series: the garrison [10]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Spoilers Post 3x10, cutesies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-07-28 16:39:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7648519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingergenower/pseuds/gingergenower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the shade of an apple tree, Constance doesn't want to move.</p>
            </blockquote>





	bright day, starry night

**Author's Note:**

> SPOILERS. POST 3x10. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

A cool summer breeze puffed strands of hair across Constance’s closed eyes, but she didn’t sweep them aside. Fading into a warm evening, the sun still reminded them of the bright heat of the day, and they sat in the same spot of shade under the leaves of an apple tree they’d chosen in the early afternoon.

D’Artagnan’s fingers tucked her hair behind her ear, and she smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to the nearest skin she could find. He’d shed all his leathers, far too hot in them, and she curled in tighter to his side.

“We should have done this for our honeymoon.”

He breathed out. “I was fighting a war.”

“You could’ve taken an afternoon off,” she said, and he rolled his eyes, poking her in the ribs. She squirmed, trying to wriggle away, but he took advantage of her instability to pull her closer. She was practically on top of him.

“If someone passes by they’ll think we’re doing something inappropriate,” she said, finally opening his eyes. She forgot how dark his skin went in summer, coppery ochre next to her translucent white.

“We are married. Nothing we do could be scandalous,” he said, grinning, and she laughed, dropping her head onto his chest.

“Monsieur, I was half asleep. I don’t think I have the energy.”

Looking up to the sky, he smiled, threading his fingers through hers. “Whenever you’re ready, madame.”

They’d feasted on a picnic late in the afternoon and drank their way through both bottles of wine d’Artagnan brought. Settled on a blanket, too comfortable to move, the fields beyond Paris felt like home.

Or, perhaps, being in his arms.

“Will we be missed if we stay here past sundown?”

He paused. “The cadets might notice you’re not there. They all adore you, and I’m certain la Hardye is in love with you.”

Lifting her head at his tone, she raised her eyebrows and struggled to hold back a laugh. “Are you jealous?”

He bit his lip, grinning. “I’m ashamed to say that I was when you were sparring with him the other day.”

“He’s not yet eighteen, you fool,” she said, sputtering with laughter.

“He grabbed your waist!” 

“I was the nearest steady object to him and he was doing his best not to fall over. He apologized at least three times.”

D’Artagnan combed his hair back, pouting. “He never apologized to me.”

“Well.” She heaved a sigh, placing her thumb on his bottom lip. “I shall belatedly apologize to you, for enjoying it.”

It took him a second. He lunged, trapping her in his arms and she shrieked and thrashed, but his arms were a cage around her and he tickled her until she cried with laughter.

“I give in, I give in, I’m sorry!”

He rolled away and let her go, and she wiped away tears, flat on her back, both of their chests heaving.

“That was cruel,” she said, arms folded over her ribs. “You’re cruel.”

“So is teasing me like that,” he said, leaning over her and kissing her. He pulled away, but didn’t go too far. “It’s getting dark. We should probably head back.”

“What if I don’t want to go back just yet?”

D’Artagnan bit his lip, eyes caressing her face. “You know I can’t say no to you.”

Her blush burned deep under her cheeks, as though he’d said it in front of the whole garrison, and he smiled, kissing her on the forehead. He found a spare blanket to drape over the two of them, and she used his chest as a pillow under it. 

Constance wasn’t sure when she drifted into sleep again, but when she woke the stars glittered in the night’s sky, and d’Artagnan’s eyes were closed too. She leant up to kiss him awake, but her movement stirred him.

A bird hooted nearby. “Is that a nightingale?” he said, eyes still closed but recognising the noise from his childhood nights on the farm.

Constance shrugged, moving to stand but the chill in the air too much to bear, pulling the blanket back around her shoulders. “Possibly.”

D’Artagnan peeled his eyes open, groaning at the distant stars. “We truly do need to return. They might be worried about us.”

“Perhaps,” she conceded, but she didn’t move, playing with his hair. “But it’s cold.”

He grinned, lifting his head up to look at her properly. “I’m convinced I’m the only person who knows quite how _precious_ you can be.”

“And you will remain to be the only person. No one will believe you if you tell them,” she said, eyes drooping shut again, her words no more a sigh.

He extracted his arm from underneath her, and she groaned, rolling away and cocooning herself in the blanket.

Pulling his jacket on, he gathered up their belongings. “Constance…”

“D’Artagnan…”

He waited.

“Fine.”

He helped her to her feet, and she stumbled over the blanket. He caught her but she didn’t have the energy to laugh with him, instead burying her face in his shoulder.

“Home?” 

“Home.”

Rearranging the blanket to wrap around her shoulders, d’Artagnan hugged her, and there wasn’t a place either of them wanted to be more.

**Author's Note:**

> okay so on further inspection there's basically no spoilers in this for season three  
> gonna leave the warning there tho
> 
>  
> 
> (also: 10 Nerd Points for those who spot the Romeo and Juliet reference. I saw the Kenneth Branagh production of it a couple of weeks ago and I need to scratch that itch)


End file.
